Blame it on Your Alarm Clock
by AWiseNaptaker
Summary: You've been having a really bad day. Late, no coffee, having to borrow your neighbor's bicycle... What way is there to make it better than to get hit by a car?
1. Chapter 1

You blame it on your alarm clock. If it would've gone off thirty minutes earlier, like it was set for, you wouldn't have been running late. After all, it wasn't like you hit snooze in your still sleeping state. No, it wasn't your fault. It was your alarm clock's. It also wasn't your fault your phone's a piece of crap and you missed that call from the job agency about your interview being moved up an hour earlier. It's not your fault your roommate Stacie took your car on a joyride last night, and left the keys (and the car) at the club she went to before leaving the place in the passenger seat of a one night stand. You don't have the money or the time to take a cab all the way downtown- remember, this is a job interview you're going to and you woke up late- so you're left riding your neighbor's daughter's rusty pink bike the ten miles or so there. You pray to whatever deity's might exist that you make it on time and aren't sweaty.

No time for coffee. Once your alarm clock goes off and you notice the time, your heart starts racing in anxiety. You are not a morning person. Still, it's only a half hour. You'll just have to cut out your second cup of coffee. Not a problem… until you hit play on the answering machine as you strut into the kitchen wearing a tank top and your boy shorts to start making said coffee, and instead find you have no time to "strut" at all. No coffee, and only a perfume shower to maybe hide the scent of your shame as you race around your apartment trying to get ready. You shove one leg into the tights you were going to wear to your interview today and hear a loud _riipppp _as your foot tears a hole from the crotch of the tights down to the knee. Muttering expletives under your breath, you tear apart your entire room in your search for something suitable to wear as that was the only pair of tights you had. Instead you slip into a pair of black jeans and a form fitting violet flannel with a black tank top underneath. You loosely apply your usual eyeliner and mascara, throw on the nearest pair of shoes (grey Converse), grab the portfolio you created in the form of a flash drive, and run to the counter to grab your keys out of the key basket. Once you get there, you see the note Stacie left you.

_"Borrowed your car! I'll have it back by ten tomorrow morning- Love ya, Stacie"_

By now, you're really starting to freak out. It's nine o'clock and your interview's _at ten thirty_. The traffic's heavy, you don't have money, you don't have a car, and the interview the job agency set up for you takes place at a radio station ten miles away. You recall your neighbor's addiction to biking and hope your own minute experience with the two wheeled vehicle is enough to get you there. After bartering with your neighbor for a bike to borrow (one week's worth of free babysitting), you sit your ass on the seat, grip the handlebars, and you start the ten mile bike ride to the radio station.

People stare at you: a petite, scowling, disgruntled twenty-something year old furiously peddling a rusty pink bike and occasionally ringing the little bell it came with while swearing vicariously at people to move out of your way. Not like you blame them. Your cell phone goes off, and you steer one handed as you answer.

"Hello?" you grunt into the phone, eyes fluttering up to the street signs at the crosswalk. Lincoln and Parkway. You're halfway there.

_"Where the hell are you?" _It's Cynthia-Rose, your sponsor and contact at the job agency. You went to high school together. She's the one that got you your interview.

"I'm on the way," you say with a slight breathlessness in your voice. "Try and stall them-"

_"I am stalling them!" _Cynthia says, full of frustration. _"I don't know how much longer I can stall them!"_

You give a groan of vexation, wishing you would've had time for your morning coffee. "There's not much I can do! Stacie stole my car this morning so I had to find an alternative mode of transportation!" You can hear CR trying to say something, but you cut her off with, "I'll be there as soon as I-"

A blaring horn and the squealing of tires halts your words, and you pivot your head in time to see the wide blue eyes of a driver just before their car crashes into you.

Vaguely, you're aware of your phone flying out of your hands and a concerned Cynthia-Rose calling out for you as it shatters into a billion pieces. You slam hard into the pavement, your neighbor's bike falling on top of you. Your head slams hard against the asphalt. The peddle of the bike drives into your left ankle until there's a distinct crack and pain shoots up your leg. Groaning, you try and sit up despite the world spinning around you. You hear the sound of a car door shutting, and then there's a worried face in front of you. You can't really focus on it, can't discern the gender or what the person looks like, but there are two blue spots on that face that utterly captivate you for some reason.

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry!" her voice is light and distinctly feminine. "Are you okay?"

Your hand inadvertently reaches up to touch her face (the one you still can't really focus on) to make sure she's real. She doesn't move or say anything as your fingers stroke the soft skin of her cheek. "Your eyes are like fire," you say, though you don't recognize the slur in your voice.

The other woman blinks, confused. "Are you sure you don't mean my hair?"

You gasp, completely and utterly surprised, "You have _hair_?! What?!" Your hand then reaches up to grab at the red curls bunched up on top of her head and you lightly tug at a stray strand. "No effing way!"

The other grimaces (maybe your tug wasn't so light) and pulls away, "Alright, so you're not okay. Can you stand up?"

You nod vigorously, quite proud of the fact that you can, in fact, stand. You start to move but instead stop and stare down at your legs. You've found that you can't actually stand. There's some strange weight there, holding your legs down. The other woman sees your glance and _bam! _Like magic, that weight on your legs disappear. Oh. It was the bicycle.

"What's wrong?" there was quite a crowd now, gathering around them.

A passerby asked, "Should I call an ambulance?"

"In this traffic?" someone answered. "It'll take another hour and a half. Better to just drive her to the hospital."

The woman helps you to stand when you cry out in pain from trying to move your ankle. With one arm around her shoulders, you both hobble to her car and she helps you lay down in the back seat. Once she makes sure you're comfortable, and apologizes every time you wince or cry out in pain, she climbs into the front seat and starts up the car. It's only then that you remember. "My job!" you yell out, immediately reaching up and reaching for the fiery-woman up front. "You have to drive me to the WBUJ radio station downtown!"

She startles at your touch, the car swerving and for a moment you think she might crash it again. You don't notice the two spots of pink burning her cheeks. "What?"

"I have a job interview there at ten! You have to get me there!"

She eyes you in the rear-view mirror, "Are you insane? I just hit you with my car!"

You suddenly feel extremely nauseous and your hand flies to your mouth. Having been watching you, still, the woman pulls over the car in time for you to lurch over to the door, violently open it and puke your brains out. With a hand, she pulls your hair out of the way. With the other, she starts rubbing circles on your back. You moan once you finish. She hands you a napkin that must've come from a fast food bag, and you wipe your mouth with it before plopping back down. There's a ringing ache in your ankle you hadn't exactly noticed through the fog in your mind.

The other woman sits back in the driver's seat again and restarts up the car. "Yeah," she says. "There's no way I'm driving you to the radio station in this condition."

"But… my interview…" it's important to you, so important to you. This could be what you've been waiting for, even if it's not exactly what you want. At least you'd be getting your music aired. Maybe. It's a start. You begin giving into the dizziness in your mind that's swirling.

"I'll get you another one," the woman promises, tone non-negotiating. You find you can't argue.

"Fine…" you mumble absentmindedly. "Alright."

You see her fiery blues glance at you again in the mirror through your half-lidded eyes before looking back at the road. You stay watching her in that way all the way to the hospital.

* * *

The doctor shifts the light to your right eye and clucks his tongue. "Well, you have a concussion," he states assuredly. You try to blink away the spots in your vision as he picks up the folder behind him. He flips through it for a moment before nodding again. "And your ankle's broken. It's not serious, the bone hasn't shifted. I'm going to prescribe you some medication for the pain. I'll wrap it and set it in an air cast, then you'll be free to go."

It's another half an hour later, with crutches under your armpits, that you work your way down to the lobby tailed by your doctor. Your scowl is back on your face as you consider the day you've had so far. Late, no car, no coffee, you missed your job interview, your cell phone's ruined, you don't know how you're going to explain the broken bike to your neighbor, and you're on crutches.

"Now, I have to recommend you ice your wounds at least three times a day for ten to twenty minutes at a time. Also, I can't allow you to drive in your state. Do you have a ride home?" he asks, ripping her prescription and handing her page to her.

"I'll take her," a familiar voice jumped in. You turn to see the redhead from before, now being able to see her clearly. "After all," she says guiltily. "It's my fault she's here in the first place."

You blush once her gaze turned to you, remembering how you touched her face. God, did you do that? How embarrassing. "You don't have to-"

"It's no problem, really," her eyes are burning into you. "I owe you. Let me drive you home."

"Okay," you say somewhat uncertainly as you reset the crutches under your arms. She smiles at you again and you follow her out of the hospital and to her car, leaving your doctor back at the reception desk. He shares a knowing glance with the receptionist.

The drive to your apartment is uncomfortable and silent. The only time either of you say anything is when you give the other woman directions. For a moment you wonder if Stacy is back at the apartment. Once you get back, you'll have to ask her to pick up your prescription from the drug store down the street. Your ankle feels stiff and hot, and you still feel mildly dizzy. Still, you're happy to be able to see clearly now and to focus on things despite the headache. You discretely glance over to the stranger sitting next to you, taking a moment to observe the woman that's both the cause of your pain and your salvation from it.

The first thing you notice is that her hair is no longer in the messy bun it was in earlier. The red curls now dangle about to a point just below the woman's shoulders. Your eyes follows a stray strand of her red hair that hangs in her face to a barely noticeable scar that sits lightly on her brow. Simultaneously, you find yourself strangely wanting to tuck her hair behind her ears and trace the scar with the tip of your finger. Next, you follow the flow of her features to her nose. Tiny freckles adorn her features there, and distantly you remember how soft her cheek was to the touch. Her plump lips, though worried at the moment by her teeth, had the ghost of a pearly-white smile upon them. You wonder what it would be like if it were directed at you. The other woman sat confidently in her seat a few inches taller than you, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel in a beat you found yourself bobbing your head to. And yet, her eyes are exactly as you described them earlier. They burn a fiery blue when she looks at you with an intensity almost like a heavenly dare. You feel like you're melting into a puddle at her gaze, your insides becoming soup. It takes you a moment to realize that the reason you feel this way is because the woman is actually looking at you. As in, she sees you staring at her like a total creep.

Lightly blushing, you look to the window. In its reflection of the woman, you see her smile as she turns to look back at the road. Somewhere in the back of your mind you come to the realization that this woman who's driving you home is beautiful.

"I'm Chloe, by the way," she says in a cheery tone. Her voice is strangely musical.

"Beca," you say shortly. You internally kick yourself at your rudeness, and also for not introducing yourself sooner. "Beca Mitchell." You point to an obscure side street, "Turn left here." The other woman, Chloe, does as you ask and turns down the road.

It's silent in the car again, though somehow not as uncomfortable as before. Chloe is drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, thoughtfully. You try to think of something to say, but she beats you to it. "Sorry I hit you with my car."

You shrug your shoulders, and smirk, "I'm sure you weren't aiming to hit me. Now, the guy behind me on the other hand…"

She laughs lightly as she agrees, "You're completely right. It was him I was after. You just got in the way."

You threw your hands up, "I can't help it you drive like a maniac!"

"I do not!" Chloe argued with a smile, "You rode out into the street without looking where you were going!"

"Sorry, mom, I'll try to look both ways before I cross the street next time. Meanwhile, where's my pacifier?"

Chloe gives you that look again, the one that makes your insides melt, her eyes darker this time. "Aren't you a little old to suck on a pacifier, Beca?" She looks at you, eyes slowly moving down over you body and back up. You gulp at whatever her insinuation is, because whatever it is it's not innocent. Suddenly, the moment's gone as she laughs again. "Never mind. You're small enough. Maybe you do need one."

You roll your eyes, "Oh, ha ha. No one's ever joked about my height before."

The redhead grins and says, "It's because you're so adorable. We tall people can't help it."

"I'm not adorable, I'm bad-ass," you correct her sternly.

"Okay, bad-ass… and short."

"Fun sized-"

"I'll say," her eyes are on you again.

Blushing, you look out the window. You suddenly realize where you are and scream out, "Shit!"

Startled, Chloe slams hard on the breaks and pulls over to the side of the road amidst an immediate sea of car horns as the drivers behind her slam on their breaks as well. As cars pass them on the side, she hurriedly asks, "What?! What is it? Are you alright?"

A little embarrassed and sort of sheepish, you scratch the back of your neck, "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, I just noticed we're not anywhere near my apartment. We must've passed it a while back."

Chloe stares at you stunned. "You screamed and almost caused another accident because we passed your apartment," it's more a statement than a question, yet you nod nervously anyway. She laughs at this and in a moment you're laughing right along with her. She pulls the car back into the road and continues to drive straight rather than to turn around. "It's alright," she states in merriment. "We're close to my house, anyway. We can stop in and have lunch and hang out for a while, if you want." She glances at you.

"Yeah, sure," you say. For some reason, the prospect of spending more time with this near stranger seems like a fantastic idea. "Sounds like fun."

The other woman grins in response and looks back at the road.

* * *

A week has passed since you met the other woman. You haven't seen her since the "hit and hang out" incident and yet, true to her word, Chloe had gotten you another interview at WBUJ. You're not entirely sure how but you decide not to question it. You're just thankful to get a second chance. Luke is the station manager there. He's the one that handled your interview. Not much happened in terms of actual questioning about the job. You showed up, he gave you and your crutches a glance over, and handed you an application to fill out. Even that application was simple. Name, number, address, education, hours capable of working, and a reference. All in all, it took about ten minutes to complete. Luke took the paper once you were done and put it in a drawer on his desk. He explains the ins and outs of the radio station ("No sex on the desk, I've been burned before" is a warning that'll be easy for you to follow) and sets a heavy looking box on the table.

"You'll be stacking CD's with Jesse," Luke explains, motioning towards the box. "When you're done, there's more. Your shift starts tomorrow at one. Don't be late." He starts to leave but pauses in the doorway of the room, "Oh, and welcome to WBUJ."

You feel a sense of disbelief at the fact that you landed this job. Sure, the pays not fantastic. You're also not going to be doing what you'd been hoping for. Still, you're on crutches. You didn't think he'd hire someone with an injury. There's relief too in there. At least you have a job. At least it's a start.

Slowly you make your way down an elevator and out of the station to Stacie. She deemed it her fault that you were crippled and has been your chauffeur since (you vaguely remember feeling disappointed when you called Stacie and accepted her offer to drive you home from Chloe's). Your car is a beat up, God-awful reddish orange Prius. Stacie gives you an encouraging smile as you sit in the passenger's seat. On the drive back to your shared apartment, you fill her in on your success at the job interview. Almost instantly she cheers and starts making plans for a celebration at a bar later that night. You can't actually drink because of the pain and anti-bacterial medication. Not to mention that Stacie would need to be sober in order to drive the both of you home. "Although," you say. "Crashing into a tree might be fun." Stacie changes the plan to a dinner instead. By the time you come up with a good enough reason to go, Stacie has already parked the car and texted everyone the details.

It takes time to make it up all six flights of stairs. Stacie lingers with you as you impatiently try to work your way up. The damn elevator's broken. Again. She could've easily ditched you on those stairs. Instead she stuck around to talk about her nail appointment the next day. Once you get to your apartment you have roundabout seven hours to kill before you have to do anything. The plans were made to have dinner at six tonight, and you'd finished your interview hours earlier than you were expecting it to take (so you haven't worked at a radio station before! you had no idea what to expect). Plopping down onto the couch, you rested your foot up on the coffee table and booted up your laptop. You played around with a mix for about five minutes before you gave up. You weren't really in the mood to do anything or be productive. It's around then that Stacie leaves you to the apartement for one of her college classes.

Sneaking a peek at your phone, you see that it's only a quarter past eleven. You're usually never up this early. Sighing heavily at the boredom, you play around on your phone for a few minutes instead. It was almost something you could consider productive, albeit almost useless. You bought Taylor Swift's newest album as well as a couple songs by Bastille. You changed your screensaver to an excitable, completely crazy-happy-adorable dog picture. You also took some time to delete people you didn't know (but were somehow friends with) on Facebook. You had the same idea to delete some of your more useless contacts as well when you scrolled across Chloe's name.

It was almost a shock to see her name there. You'd forgotten that she'd given you her number. Though you'd thought about her here and there in a parting thought (usually when you were thinking about your injuries), the redheaded woman hadn't been at the forefront of your mind. Thinking about her now, though, you recall how easy it was to banter with her. To talk with her. You spent a few hours with a complete stranger that had hit you with their car and felt completely at ease. You weren't usually like that unless you were with Stacie or Cynthia-Rose of Amy.

You can't say exactly what it was about Chloe that made her so easy to get along with. You consider the idea that she literally broke down your walls when she hit you with her car. All you know for sure is that for those few hours you almost felt at home. Idly, you think about texting her. It might be weird since you haven't spoken to her in a week. Still, if she doesn't remember you or doesn't want to talk to you or something then at least you can get it out of the way. It'll be simple. You don't want to make it awkward. Before you can second-guess your decision, you send a her a text.

**_Hey, Red. Is your road-rage under control yet or should I be concerned?_**

Your father's an English lit professor at Barden College and some of his old habits stuck. You weren't big into texting abbreviations. Barden's the same college Stacie goes to, incidentally.

You stare at your phone for almost a full minute as you wait for Chloe to text you back. You could've sworn that the Jeopardy game show song was playing in the background, or a big clock ticking the seconds away. Finally, you give up and decide to take a nap. If she doesn't text you back, then at least you'll know where you stand and can delete her number. You turn on the TV to National Geographic and start to doze off to frogs in South America. You're very near to the realm of sleep when the loudest noise wakes you up. Startled, you jump up and, having forgotten about your foot, hit it hard against the floor. "Mother fu-" the ringing from your phone cuts you off. It wasn't what woke you up (that was National Geographic's frog's fault) but it's still there causing a nuisance to your sleeping habits. You click the off button on the remote before you look at your phone. Those frogs could actually croak out their last for all you care at the moment.

It's Chloe's name on the screen. She sent back a text.

_**Who are you and why are you texting this number?**_

Disappointment eats away at your insides. So maybe you were right and Chloe doesn't want to talk to you. Maybe she doesn't remember you. Maybe she gave you the wrong number. You're not sure how to reply, so you send back:

_**Sorry, wrong number**_

Afterwards, you shut off your phone and jump in the shower. You still have five hours until you need to leave, but you want to conserve some of the hot water for Stacie when she get's back from class. Beyond that, even, you find the cascading warm water relaxing. You change into some loose clothes, brush out your hair without drying it, then decide to go to sleep. You'll probably be up a little late tonight, and you're still a little groggy from almost falling asleep earlier. You fall asleep easily to thoughts about Chloe. That sourness in your stomach hasn't quite left you yet. You don't dream.

* * *

You all showed up, the lot of you, to an almost fancy restaurant called "Elizabeth's". You wait for the hostess to return from seating a woman named Gale and her colleague (they were working on a script of some sort, from what you could hear). Stacie grins flirtatiously and leans forward a bit to show off her cleavage, "Table for four?"

"Name?" the hostess asks. The name on her tag says Barbara.

"Oh, we don't have a reservation," Stacie explains with a confident, seductive air to her tone. "But if you show us to our seats, I'll make sure to leave a good... tip."

The woman looks disgusted and immediately steps away from your friend. "No reservation, no seats," she says maliciously, glaring at the group of you. "Which means you aren't here to buy and are wasting my time and money." You recognize the look on her face as more than slightly homophobic. It pisses you off. You have half a mind to take your crutches and shove them up her- "Feel free to go." It looks almost as if Fat Amy was going to throw a punch at the bitch for taking away their prospect of food.

"Actually," it's her voice again. "They're with us."

Sure enough you look over to see the woman you spent your day regretting. Standing beside her is a tall, uptight looking blonde. There's a joyful little lilt to Chloe's lips that makes you want to return it. Her eyes are just the same as they ever were, alive and searing. You wonder how, in the past week, you could've forgotten them. You open your mouth to disagree with Chloe's statement, but keep it shut at the sound of your stomach growling loudly. You hadn't realized how hungry you were.

"Reservation for Beale," Chloe bubbly states.

The rather "pleasant" hostess states, "You made it for two."

Chloe's blonde friend growls at the hostess despite her clear disdain at the idea of eating with the four of you, "Then make it for six."

Barb the hostess looks ready to argue but doesn't say what's clearly on her mind. "Fine," she says, marking something in her register on the tables. "Right this way." With an armful of menus, the hostess leads you to a large circular booth in the far back corner of the restaurant. She places the menus and silverware down as all of you take your seats. You avoid looking anywhere at Chloe across the table. Cynthia's sitting on your left, ordering her drink for the evening. Stacie's on her other side, sitting next to the blonde rather closely. Fat Amy's on your right, thumbing through her menu. You can't resist avoiding Chloe for long and look up to see her staring at you too.

You don't know how you'll make it through the night.

* * *

**AN**

**Gonna try to make this three chapter's long. No guarantee. I might end up writing everything I need to in the next chapter. I was planning on writing the whole thing tonight in one long one-shot, but it's late and I don't have my glasses. I can't see exactly what I'm writing, so I'm splitting up what else I've had written with what I still need to get done. Gimme some reviews if you like it. Feel free to fav or follow. Hope I didn't do too bad with everything. Hope you liked it. Thanks for reading.**


	2. Chapter 2

Awkward. Awkward awkward awkward.

You take a sip of your drink, some carbonated brown thing the waitress brought you that tastes nothing like the alcohol you wish could take the edge off (but can't because of doctor's orders), and go back to trying to avoid looking at Chloe. There's a distinct absence of conversation that's creating a tense, static atmosphere. It almost feels as if lightning's about to strike down. Like the heaven's are about to break out in a heady downpour of rain. Something's going to snap. Someone's going to break the silence soon. Only, you were never good at making pleasant conversation, and you aren't one to speak first. That someone's not going to be you.

When you add all the little things together that makes this situation so very unnerving, you're at a loss of what to do or think. Being social, in general, isn't your thing. You think briefly on the irony that you want to be someone who produces music yet has absolutely no clue how to act like a human being in a social setting. Sarcasm only goes so far.

It's been a week since you saw the redhead last. Chloe. The one that hit you with her car and left you dizzy (which is a mild way of saying that she gave you a concussion and a broken foot). It's been a week since you spent hours at her house, doing nothing of importance but spending time with an interesting stranger, and she put her number in your phone. It's been a week since you talked to her last. And the text sent six hours earlier? That doesn't count because either A) she gave you the wrong number, B) she changed her number, or C) she doesn't remember who you are. Regardless, each of these add up to one thing: Chloe probably didn't want to talk to you again.

That theory seems strange now that you're sitting here across the table from her at an almost fancy restaurant (named "Elizabeth's") at Chloe's own bequest. You're at a loss of what to think. When added with the other facts, your conclusion doesn't make sense. So what did you get wrong?

You think that maybe life got in the way and you're overreacting to this entire thing. Life always seems to get in the way. It's probably something a lot simpler. Still, you can't find it within you to talk to the woman. You still haven't spoken to her in a week.

Fat Amy's the one to crack first.

"So, first I'd like to thank you twig bitches for helping me and my mates take our rightful seats at this establishment," Amy has a serious face. She gives a solemn look to both Chloe and her blonde friend before continuing, "But I need to make sure you know I can't afford the bill. A lot of you yankees seem to think I have enough money to buy up the entire Aussie coastline. Some even suggest I get it from playing on the dark side." Amy's eyes flash, "I don't know who you might've heard it from, but it's not true. Mermaid dancing is a recreational sport. They love me at Medieval Fairs."

"Amy, you don't go to Medieval Fairs," Cynthia-Rose reminds her.

Amy give CR a strange look, "Then where do I get all my money?"

Chloe interrupts the pair, "You don't have to worry about paying." You can't resist looking up. There's soft light playing over her hair. The atmosphere in the restaurant is comfortable and romantic. Chloe's eyes are looking into your own, her irises reflecting the flames from a candle. You think how strange it is that she accepts your friends as they are, without questioning. Not many people do. You're sure it'll come later. "I still owe Beca for hitting her with my car."

The table nearly erupts at her words, everyone speaking at once.

"She's the one you hit/that hit you with her/your car?"

"I get a free meal from Shawshank's pain?"

"Aw hell-"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah."

"No!"

"Is that why we're eating with_ these people_?" Chloe's blonde friend speaks for a second time in the span of five seconds, and it's her words that are easiest to hear. Everything else was a loud jumble of confusion and words and cheers and confirmations.

You look over at the woman with a glare, "'These people'?"

The blonde's eyes barely look over at you, as if you weren't worth her time. Her voice sounds like your father's did, the night he told your mom and you about his affair. "No offense," she says. She eyes you in disdain.

"Hi, all!" the waitress is a cheery woman who seemingly popped up from nowhere. She holds a pen poised over her notebook. "Are you ready to place your orders?"

Amy reals back in shock at the woman, "When did you get here?"

The waitress' jaw is clenched in her smile, the one that you can see now isn't so cheerful as polite, "I've literally been here the whole time."

"No," you say. "I need a few more minutes to look at the menu if that's okay."

The waitress walks away in a second, throwing a "Take your time" over her shoulder as she goes. CR's head cocks to the side as she visibly checks her out.

"Well, I know what I want," Stacie practically purrs to Aubrey.

You ignore them and turn to look back at Chloe, hoping to continue the previous conversation, "Look, I can't ask you to pay for all of us."

"I hit you with my car," she says with a half smile and a small shrug.

"And that was an accident," you say. "You already more than made up for it."

She shakes her head, bemused, "Beca, I drove you to the hospital and I drove you home. How have I made up for it?"

"You also, somehow, got me a second interview at the radio station."

"After I caused you to miss it-"

"That's not your fault because I was running late anyway, I probably would've missed it. As it is, it's my fault I got hit by your car," you cut her off. You're dead set on not budging from your position. Chloe would not be paying for the six of you. "You got us a table. Let's split the tab. That's enough." There's a lull in the conversation at your sharp tone. Maybe it's pride, or maybe it's the knowledge that it really would be cheaper for Chloe in the long run if they paid separately, or maybe it's something else entirely but you can't let Chloe pay for you. Not now. Not after only speaking to her once. Not to make up for something that you already considered in the past.

Maybe it came down to you not wanting to feel like she could buy your trust. Like she could buy her way into your-

That smile on her face that faltered at your words, though, was devastatingly convincing. Everything about Chloe made you want to give in and trust her. It confused you. What do you really want to do here? What is actually the right move?

You're not letting her pay.

"Does that mean no free food then?" Amy asks carefully. When everyone looks at her, she throws her hands up as a white flag, "Just to be clear."

The conversation is unanimously and unspokenly dropped.

It's then that you finally start looking through the menu. Nothing looks particularly appetizing. That sense of adventure, of maybe trying something new and trying to be optimistic if just for this one night and only in regards to this restaurant, has dissipated by now. The only thing that looks remotely interesting is soup and breadsticks, and even that seems abstractly disinteresting in regards to eating tonight. It's generic. It's the default food you order when you go to restaurants. Soup and breadsticks. If there's ever a time where there aren't any of either on the menu, you go with a plain burger. But here it is on the menu, and if soup is what you're going to go with...

You don't place the menu down once you've decided, preferring to use it as a barrier between yourself and the rest of the table. Even though you know that you're exhibiting a strange behaviour, you can't seem to help yourself from trying to keep that wall up.

Chloe's looking at you strangely from across the table with something akin to worry on her face. The blonde is not so secretly glaring.

* * *

It's after the waitress takes everyone's orders that the introductions actually occur. You hadn't noticed because you'd been preoccupied with your thoughts, but no one was familiar with one another until Stacie started the introductions. It takes a matter of seconds before everyone is acquainted and friendly chatter starts up.

Chloe keeps glancing at you as she converses with Amy, talking about something you could care less about (hence why you don't care to actually know what it is they're talking about). Aubrey, the blonde, sits straight and with her shoulders back. She replies curtly and with barely veiled irritation at Stacie's provocative remarks that Cynthia-Rose occasionally goes along with. You don't talk much. Your friends recognise the look on your face as one that says you're not in the mood. They understand you don't want to talk. Not around near strangers.

Chloe doesn't seem to get the memo, though. You don't understand why she keeps trying to draw you into the free flowing conversation. Again, you haven't talked to her in a week. When you tried texting her, earlier that day, you had the wrong number. Maybe there was some sort of misunderstanding, but you really can't continue until it's cleared up and you can't find it within you to broach the topic. Everytime you try, it's with a reminder that you're surrounded by your friends and a blonde woman who keeps giving you these patronising stares. Trepidation arises, worrisome and eating at your core. You're definitely overthinking this, you think you must be. Still, how much actually happened in a day to get you to this point where you _feel like this? _And why is she putting an effort in trying to get you involved?

You grit your teeth and start to move to grab your crutches. This process means reaching over Amy and, in effect, nearly pushing her out of the booth. Amy makes a comical noise as she nearly loses her balance, and you manage to squeeze your way by. Everyone is watching you now, and you know what the blonde girl thinks when she looks at you. It's probably the same thing that Chloe thinks (the rational part of your mind argues that it's not, that you're letting your insecurities get to you out of nowhere, but it's easy to shut your rational side up).

A brunette punk girl, covered in tattoos and piercings. Sharp features, heavy eyeliner, and a permanent scowl. Uncomely, unsociable, and very alternative. Someone that must do drugs. Or steals. Or sleeps around- with anybody- or money, because she's obviously broke. Just look at her, she doesn't have a job. Surely useless to society. Nothing that amounts to good. A person that polite people, that respectable people, shouldn't be around. Can't you see her tattoos?

You had enough of those type of judgements with your father. You had enough of that with most everyone in high school. You had enough of that from perfect strangers. You're a twenty one year old woman now. You're done being treated like anything less than a human being on account of your appearance or your sexual orientation. Why should it matter to anyone else who you are or what you do with your life? Why should that matter to a stranger?

"Beca, where're you going?" it's Stacie, calling out from deep in the booth. She's trying to wriggle her way out passed Cynthia-Rose, who's also starting to make her way down the seats. Amy's sitting completely on the floor now. You have your crutches under your arms and you're starting to hobble your way towards the front door. There's plenty of time before the food gets served and you need a moment alone to get these overwhelmed feelings under control. Chloe's talking to her friend in quick, hushed tones, but peeks up to look at you apologetically with her blue eyes. You don't pause for a second.

"I need some air."

* * *

No one had followed you out. You're still standing in front of Elizabeth's, leaning your back against the brick building while holding your crutches with your eyes closed. It's not like you were planning on leaving. You really did need a breath of air.

Whether or not you were overreacting, all you need is a moment to calm down before you head back inside to face the battlefield.

You wonder what it might be like to stand out here and smoke, as people often do, in order to have something to do with your hands so you don't look as awkward standing out here as feel. But you've never actually smoked a cigarette.

"I'm sorry about that," damn it. You'd spoken too soon. You open your eyes to see Chloe standing unsurely in front of you. "I didn't think paying would be such a big deal, and Aubrey's really a sweetheart. Her parent's just never took her out of the shrink wrap."

"I don't even know what that means," you say, aggravatedly. Your eyes flit away from Chloe to look at the traffic, the onrush of cars, so she doesn't see how bothered you are. Sure, Aubrey was a little uptight and you doubt that the both of you would ever get along, but that wasn't the problem. You know that Chloe wasn't trying to be showy or anything by attempting to pay for everyone. "It's just..." you sigh, trying to find the words. "I appreciate you trying to be nice and buy us all dinner, but I don't need your help."

"I know you don't need my help," Chloe replies amiably. "You got that job at the radio station, didn't you?"

You give her a sharp glance, "Yeah, I did."

Chloe shrugs with a coy smile, "Then why would you need my help? I was only trying to be nice, like you said."

Shaking your head you say, "I think I've blown this all out of proportion."

Her smile's a little warmer now, reminiscent to the last time you'd seen her, and it sends birds fluttering about in your stomach. "Maybe a little, but it's cute," her hand trails along your arm absentmindedly. Your face feels a little hot at her words, and you try to ignore it.

"I'm badass," you say. "Not cute."

She grins, "Tomato, tomato."

You raise an eyebrow, "Don't you mean to-mah-to?"

She shrugs, "I've never actually heard anyone say tomato that way, but that's exactly the point of the phrase." She waves one hand around abstractly, "They mean the same thing."

You give a sigh of acceptance and take one more breath before shifting your crutches and beginning to make your way back inside.

Chloe's other hand stays firm upon your shoulder, warm and comforting. You barely have time to look at her when she envelopes you in a hug. It's almost unnatural how naturally you react to this. Her cheek presses against the top of your head as you bury your face in the space between her shoulder and neck. You drop your crutches as your arms immediately respond by wrapping around Chloe. She holds you in her strong embrace, while your arms are loose and uncertain. You're not often hugged and less often hugged like this. "I missed you," she murmurs quietly. You do your best not to reply that you missed her too.

When she pulls away from the hug, she leans down to pick up the crutches you dropped as you lean against the building for support. She hands them to you and your fingers gently touch.

"Why didn't you call?" she asks pensively. It strikes you then that you really have been overreacting, that this all has actually been some sort of misunderstanding, and your cheeks flush lightly in embarrassment.

"I sent you a text..." you say timidly. "Earlier, but I'm not sure that I had the right number." Chloe immediately goes to pull out her phone, flipping through her texts with a furrowed brow. It shouldn't matter as much as it does to the both of you that you stay in contact this time.

She smiles when she sees your text, and it lights up her entire face. That blush comes back, furiously reddening your cheeks more than before. You shuffle awkwardly on your feet, leaning on the opposite crutch to give your left armpit a break. Chloe quickly texts something back as she explains, "Aubrey had my phone earlier while I was in the shower. She used it to call her dad, so she must've answered it when you texted. She wouldn't have known who you were."

The explanation is simple. It's easy.

There's a buzz in your pocket when your phone receives her text. You're itching to look at it now, but something in Chloe's expression convinces you to wait until later.

God, you're such a fool.

The both of you start to make your way back inside. The mood is lighter now and the food is sitting on the table. Aubrey's face itself seems to be slightly apologetic for her brisk personality, but she says nothing on the matter. Instead, she's engaging herself in a conversation with Stacie about E-network. The soup you'd ordered was actually pretty good.

* * *

"You're late," is the first thing that Luke tells Jesse the next afternoon. It's followed closely by a huff of resignation, and then Luke saying, "This is Becky. You'll be working with her from now on."

"It's Beca-" you try to correct Luke.

Jesse, however, must deem himself a funny guy as he gives a charming grin as he interrupts you, "No, it's Becky."

You roll your eyes. The dude is mildly annoying.

Jesse peers at you closely before recognition strikes his face, "Hey! I know you!"

Luke's eyebrow quirks in a question.

"No you don't," you say in answer to Luke's silent question.

"Yeah I do," he says vehemently.

You look back at look Luke, "He doesn't."

"Totally know her."

Luke looks unimpressed, "Ok, cool. You guys can figure it out while you're stacking CDs." He waves Jesse off to the side table where you're standing next to boxes of records and CDs. He then turns to take refuge in the booth while you and Jesse get to work at your new job. You decide to forgo the crutches, leaning them up against the wall, and shuffle around awkwardly with a box in your hands and your foot in a cast as you place the items within it on their designated shelves. Jesse follows behind you, sorting his own box.

"I do know you," he says. "You're the girl who got hit by a car around a week ago. I was one of the guys who went to check up on you. I remember because you were riding a pink bicycle. Wait, was that your bicycle?"

You give him a blank look, "No."

"Oh. Okay," he says, and you proceed to ignore him. There's a pause before he jumps back into attempting conversation, "Luke's attractive, huh? Excellent bone structure, fancy British accent, really cool tattoos..." He's fishing for something, and so you reply in the hopes that maybe he'll shut up.

"He's not really my type," you say nonchalantly. "You can go for it, though."

Jesse blinks.

It clearly wasn't what he expected you to say, and he blushes. "No, I'm not- I mean, I'm clearly- But I don't-" he sputters. You take that moment to put another record on the shelf, right next to the Beetle's section. Jesse doesn't talk for a while after that. You don't get why he'd gotten so flustered. He has nothing to be embarrassed about. Still, you're greatful for the silence your given.

A little while later, Luke has Jesse go out for a burger run. You decide to take a five minute brake (or maybe it's a half hour long brake, whatever) while Jesse's gone and Luke's preoccupied. You take your phone out of your pocket and scroll to the text Chloe sent you the evening before. You're not sure why your phone practically burned a hole in your pocket.

_**hey :)**_

That's all she'd sent. Hey. You've had all of twenty-one hours or so now, and you still aren't sure how to reply. You feel so awkward. How are you supposed to reply to "hey"?Grumbling to yourself, and feeling completely lame, you decide to text back.

_**Hi.**_

That doesn't seem completely right though. After deliberating for a moment, you decide to add more on.

_**Hi. How was your day?**_

That's not too weird, right? They're sort of friends now. You and the redhead. Chloe. You're not the type to initiate conversation, though, so you backtrack a little. You erase the whole meager little text, then rewrite your original text.

_**Hi.**_

This is what you're back to. Kinda lame. Embarrassed, you erase it as well.

_**Thanks for dinner last night-**_

No, that sounds like you went on a date. Everything that happened yesterday was extremely platonic. You were both surrounded by your friends. But, if you weren't surrounded by your friends, then maybe it would've been a date- except, no, because everything that happened yesterday was _platonic. _You attempt to reiterate that idea in your mind, repetitively, but all that comes across is the searing image of her sitting across from you, skin glowing from the candlelight, and a smile directed only at you... Platonic.

So you erased that text as well.

_**How's the road rage?**_

No-

_**What are you up to?**_

No-

**_Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?_**

No, no- God, where did that even come from?

Stumped, you just sit there at the table in the studio where you were supposed to be working glaring at your phone. Jesse would be back soon with food. If he or Luke sees that the boxes are just the way you'd left them from half an hour (okay, so maybe it's been a little more than half an hour now) ago, there going to start asking questions and you just got this job. You can't afford to lose it. Sighing, you're about to tuck your phone away in the back pocket of your jeans when inspiration strikes.

**_Hey, _**you start with, **_did I ever thank you for getting me that second interview?_**

Before you overthink it, you hit send. Before you have the chance to take your phone and throw it at the wall for being an idiot, you tuck it in your back pocket and get back to work. It's barely two minutes later when you feel it buzz.

_**lol no**_

You blink. You would've thought Chloe was the conversationalist. Still, you know how you get with texts. You try to keep it to a minimum, but you always seem to have a lot more to say when text.

**_Well thanks, I got the job :)_**

Awkward, but that's good right? A couple minutes later and your phone rings again.

**_r u thr now?_**

**_Yeah_**

**_cool :)_**

And that's about as far as your conversation goes. Part of you hates yourself because it's obvious how much she doesn't want to talk to you. You're not even sure why you care so much. You sigh, put your phone away, and go back to stacking CDs. Jesse walks in not long after with the burgers, blaming how long he took on traffic. Neither he nor Luke notices how many boxes were still left on the table. The rest of the work day goes by pretty easily, with Jesse making occasional comments about various things that happened with some of his past coworkers and Luke walking out of the booth every now and again to grab some other songs to play.

The studio is small. The station doesn't get a lot of listeners. It's quaint, and homey, and barely a dot on anyone's music radar... but the music's good, and it pays well, and it's a place to start.

* * *

**AN**

**Sorry it took me so long to get this posted. I lost a little bit of interest, not gonna lie, despite having more than half of this chapter written. I've decided that rather than worry about limiting myself, I'm just going to let myself write what I want to write and we'll see where it takes me. After that decision, it got a little easier to loosen up. The story's definitely going to be a little easy going. I'm not gonna jump out with the "L" word right away. No guarantees about when the next chapter will be posted. Hope y'all stay tuned.**

**Thanks for following, favoriting, and or reviewing- but most of all, thanks for reading. Hope you've enjoyed it so far. We'll see where it goes.**

**TO MY THREE REVIEWERS:** Normally, I respond to each reviewer individually, and I'm sorry that I'm not today, but you all pretty much asked for the same thing... In that turn, I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update! I hope you all are enjoying it so far, still, and thank you all so much for your reviews. You guys have no idea actually how much your words and your support means to me. So thank you so much! Please forgive me.

**That said, once again, thanks for reading! I hope you all have a warm, not frozen with snow and stuck in your house because of it, day. Or not. Whatever you want to do. Psh.**


	3. Chapter 3

It's the next day at work when she texts you again.

_**r u fre 2 hav a L8 lunch w/me?**_

Her writing is terrible. You can barely understand it. Why couldn't she type out the words like a normal person? It's entirely endearing. Jesse sees you smiling as you turn away to reply.

_**I don't know, my shift just started**_

You work from one to nine each day, with a break around five for dinner. It's only one-thirty now. The shift started a half hour ago. You don't think Luke will let you have two breaks, and it's not fair to Jesse to work alone or to ask him to cover for you. It'll look like a bad work ethic. Plus, you'll probably be starving by the time nine rolls around if you plan on eating now. There's still a stack of boxes waiting to be sorted through.

_**prtty plez?**_

Fuck it. You can just imagine her looking at you with those wide, blue, puppy dog eyes. Why does she have to be so- No. Don't finish that thought.

_**Okay,**_ you say helplessly, _**let me see what I can do.**_

In return, Chloe sends you a picture of her happily blowing a kiss at you. You ignore your face flushing, turn around, and knock on the door to Luke's booth.

"WKJB, music for the independent mind..." you hear the tale end of a set before he cuts the station to commercials. When he opens the door, he stares down imposingly at you with an eyebrow raised in question. "What?"

"Can I take my break now?" you ask, betraying none of the emotions you feel on your face. Not hope, or mild guilt, or impatience to hear his answer. You don't show none of those. Your face is a blank slate. Except, maybe mild impatience.

Luke looks a little amazed, as if he can't believe you have the audacity. "You want to take your break... now," he says it more like a statement than a question, but you nod assuredly nonetheless. You're not exactly confident that he'll say yes, but couldn't help asking because Chloe asked. He looks at a watch on his wrist, checking the time. "It's only one thirty," he says.

"I know," you press. "I won't take another break later if that's what you're worried about."

His eyebrows furrow, mildly confused. "What's so important that you want to take a break so early? Your shift just started."

You don't really have a good excuse, so you shrug and say, "Life's calling me. You know how it is."

He blinks.

You blink.

Then your phone rings, which is kind of coincidental when compared to your earlier statement. When you glance at the caller ID, you see Chloe's name pop up. Luke sees who it is too, and understanding seems to cross his face.

He gives you a knowing smirk before saying, "Yeah. I know how it is." He waves you off, "Go ahead. Jesse can handle things here." Jesse opens his mouth to say something. You're still holding the ringing phone in your hand when Luke slams the door to the booth in your face, stopping Jesse's objections. On the sound system throughout the station, you hear the commercials end and Luke say, "Welcome back to WKJB, music for the independent mind. Up next is _Pompeii _by Bastille..."

You answer the phone just in time, sure she was about to hang up. "Chloe?"

"Beca!" she squeals excitedly. Honestly, you're not quite sure how she sounds so energetic. She's just talking to you. "So, lunch?" she asks.

"Yep. Lunch. I'm free for the next hour or so if that's good with you," you confirm, glancing at Jesse who's not trying to hide the fact that he's listening in. You resist the urge to flip him the bird when he waggles his eyebrows. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well..."

* * *

This is not what you had in mind. She picked you up from the station early on during your shift for a late lunch at an ice cream parlor. To eat ice cream. For lunch. You're going to be starving later, but you don't say anything about it when you order a large hot fudge sundae with whipped cream, extra fudge, chopped nuts, and cherries on top. Chloe has a mischievous smile that plays on her lips when you order, which garners a confused look from you that she ignores in favor of ordering a small strawberry milkshake.

When you sit down, you immediately start eating. You have a habit of eating very slowly (you like to savour the taste) but you don't want to waste the time you have when you're on your break, or risk being late when you return back to work. Not to mention that the large sundae they gave you was actually huge. Despite hastily taking multiple spoon-fulls of the freezing sweet you'd barely knocked a hole in it not five minutes later. You just happen to glance up at some point, as you shove a particularly grotesquely large spoon-full towards your mouth, to see Chloe watching you intently with her head tilted to the side, lazily stirring the straw in her milkshake.

Face flushing, you ask behind the bite, "Whaa?" You swallow it, and lick away some stray chocolate from your lips.

"I'm just wondering how good your ice cream is," she says carefully, watching your lips. "For you to be eating like that."

"Oh," is your genius reply. You wonder what she means, mildly self-conscious about how you eat. You scoop some more ice cream on your spoon, this time a rather healthy bite size, and take another bite. She still hasn't moved her eyes away. She's still lazily stirring around her milkshake, as if she has all the time in the world to watch you eat. "Would you... would you like to try some?"

She grins immediately and reaches over for your spoon, "I thought you'd never ask!" Her fingers brush your hand as she gently takes the metallic utensil and scoops up her own bite. None too shy about germs, it's your turn to watch, mesmerized, as the bite goes into her mouth and she slowly pulls the spoon out. The spoon rests for a moment, there, on her lips as she she contemplates the flavor of your sundae. You find yourself waiting anxiously. She's looking for something in your face. Chloe smiles, "This is pretty good." She hands you back the spoon and motions between your sundae and her milkshake. "Care to share?"

You bite your lip as you take it, considering what she's asking. A stray thought points out that you'd be sharing saliva, like you were kissing, because you'd be eating off the same spoon. But what's wrong with that? The sharing the spoon part. Not the kissing part. Though there's nothing wrong with kissing either, and there's especially nothing wrong with kissing Chloe. Except there is. Because you're friends. Just friends. Dammit Beca this meal is platonic! Get it through your head. You don't like Chloe like that. It's just a spoon. One that she's already eaten off of.

You realize that you'd been off in your own thoughts and Chloe's still waiting on a reply.

"Sure," you find you can't say no to Chloe. "We can share."

The two of you strike up a slow conversation about nothing in particular, swapping the spoon back and forth between you. She asks about your tattoos and she shows you hers. She talks about her college classes, how she's involved in the Bellas, and how she's graduating this year. You mention your dad's a professor, but that you'd never really had an interest in college, that you'd preferred to find your own way. You think a capella's lame, but do your best to give Chloe the benefit of the doubt. You talk about your best friends, hers is Aubrey, yours is Stacie, and the crazy things you'd get up to together.

"That's actually a lot like me and Stacie," you say. "She always goes nuts at frat parties. Sometimes she'll drag me along, and I always stand in the corner looking stupid."

"That's no fun," Chloe grins. "Where's your inner party animal?"

"Hibernating," you say, hesitating a moment before reaching over for her milkshake. Your lips slip around the straw and you start to drink it. You do your best to ignore the fact that Chloe's still watching you, looking oddly satisfied. It's weird when people stare. No one ever really does. The fact that the entirety of her attention is on you makes your face hot and your stomach flutter in a funny way. The milkshake's pretty good. "I'm not really big on parties," you say after you swallow, sliding the cup back over.

Chloe bites her lip. "Maybe that's because you haven't been to the right kind of party," she says, and there's something in her tone that sounds suggesting. It completely goes over your head.

"I doubt it," you snort. "I don't often get drunk, I'm not really big on drinking, but the one time I got myself plastered I woke up at home with a clean bedroom. Everyone was complaining the next day about how boring I was." You shake your head. "Trust me," you smirk. "I'm much more fun when I'm sober."

Chloe's eyes darken, "Whatever you say." She goes back to swirling the straw around, "But I'm still going to get you drunk." Her eyes light up, "Oh! In fact, I have a great idea!" You have a feeling you aren't going to like it all that much, but she tells you anyway. "Why don't you come over tonight? After you're done working, I mean. We're having a little get together with the Bellas, and it'd be great if you could be there." She sees the look of trepidation on your face, and rushes on. "You could bring some friends too, if you want. I mean, I'll be there so you won't completely be alone either way..."

She's pulling the face that you'd imagine she'd make earlier. Well, not quite the same face. This one's about eighty five billion times worse. Why does she have to be so compelling?

"Okay," you spit out suddenly, haltingly. "If you're sure."

"Oh I am totes sure!" She halfway lunges over the table, reaching you and pulling you into a hug excitedly. Her breath is hot in your ear. It gives you shivers. "This is gonna be so much fun," she whispers, lips brushing against your ear.

What did you just agree to?

* * *

It's nine thirty when you walk through the door to your apartment, cursing for the hundredth time that you live on the sixth floor and your apartment maintenance is crappy. The elevator's still broken. Hobbling up the stares with crutches and an empty stomach is not fun. Chloe's "get together" started about an hour ago. You sent her a text to let her know you'd be a little late, and she'd said it was fine (with three smiley-faces and one blow-kiss emoji). You're a little exhausted. You still have yet to speak to Stacie to see if she wanted to go with. Not to mention maybe Amy or Cynthia Rose. Who knows if you'd even get around to it.

You have half a mind to bail. It's not that you don't want to be there, but... you really don't want to be there. Chloe's face comes to mind and you know that she'd be heartbroken if you didn't go. So you suck it up.

"Stacie?" you call out after you manage to get the door unlocked. "You home?" You hear an indistinct voice call out from somewhere within the deepest corners of your apartment, which you assume to mean that she is. After setting a bag that has some of your day to day stuff in it down on the counter, you start fishing around in the fridge, looking for something to eat. "Hey, how do you feel about going out tonight?"

"What do you mean? Like to a club?" her voice is still pretty distorted. There's some rustling coming from behind her bedroom door a moment before it opens. Her hair is mildly disheveled.

You find some leftover Chinese in the fridge and pull it out. "No," you say, dumping the shrimp lo mein on a plate and tossing the box in the trash. "Like out to a party."

She watches you as you slip the plate in a microwave, putting it in for forty-five seconds, as she leans against the counter next to you "What kind of party?"

"Well," you drawl, sitting on the counter and avoiding looking down at Stacie. "It's more of like a get together. With some of Chloe's friends. And Chloe. But there's going to be alcohol and some guys there, so it's still going to be fun." You peek up.

Stacie looks thoughtful. "Chloe's the redhead?" she asks. The cogs are turning in her mind.

"Uh-huh," you say nonchalantly.

Her head quirks to the side curiously, "Did you talk to her today?"

"Yes. She texted me while I was at work and we went out for lunch together," the alarm for the microwave rings so you jump off the counter and grab out the plate. "So?" you ask. "Do you want to go?"

Stacie grins, "Booze and boys? How can I say no! Just give me ten to get ready." She turns back around in her room to get changed, leaving you alone in the kitchen to eat leftovers.

"Take your time!" you call out. "We're already late. Not like five minutes is going to make a difference at this point."

"No way Mitchell! I'm not gonna keep you from your girl any longer than you have to be," she reappears a few minutes later wearing a black halter top and skinny jeans.

"Chloe's not my girl," you say as you roll your eyes. You take the last bite of noodles and start to chew before placing the plate in the sink.

There's a devilish look on Stacie's face, "Who said anything about Chloe? But now that we are talking about her..."

"We're not," you state firmly.

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"So you didn't flirt with her on the phone?"

"Nope."

"Right," if anything, Stacie looks amused. "Anyway, don't worry about it. You're not the only one who's being stupid about their feelings."

You feel a little alarmed, "What do you mean?"

In response, Stacie grabs you and your crutches and pulls you to the door. "C'mon Beca! We have a party to get to." You barely manage to stagger down the stairs as you go.

* * *

**Author's Note, PLEASE READ:**

Shorter chapter, sorry guys! Getting ready to head back to college in a few days, so I've been packing like crazy. I didn't have a lot of time to put more detail into this and, regardless, this one kinda needed to be shorter. It's like a prep for what's to come. Which, I'll leave up to you...

Am I going M rated, with a little drunken lovemaking going on? And, if so, do you want that I should imply that it happens and skip over the whole thing, or should I add it in and add a little detail?

Or do I go with some more heavy flirting, a little awkward mayhem, and the funny yet boring version of drunk Beca that Chloe somehow seems to change into something a little off the rails?

The voting, as well as maybe some reviews, starts now.

**OKAY YOU CAN STOP READING NOW IF YOU WANT**

**Remix-This: **More flustered Jesse to come (-trust me, it's kind of integral to the story-), no guarantees about Beca's texting skills right away, and Chloe's just waiting for Beca to be comfortable with her first. Thanks for reading, love the imput!

**Luke 923 HA: ^^ !**

**WebsForevz: **Thanks dude! Keep it hush hush, but more Staubrey to come.

**Rubiksmaniac: **Will do! I've already started the next chapter. Just waiting on some go ahead from you guys regarding the above.

**Liptony: **Thanks! I woke up like this ;)

**Jada.T: **Hope this chapter's okay! Glad you like it so far~

**To GUESTS: **Chloe will show up at the station soon, trust me (just not this chapter)! Glad you like it, and think it's cute, and I'm also glad to know that I'm not the only one who loves an adorable, socially awkward Beca. Lol, to the second to last guest, becky is the first thing that came to my head. I couldn't let the opportunity pass to take it. :) Also, Staubrey may have a heavy chance of likewise occurring in the future... More to come.

**RadforR: **Thank you, thank you, thank you! Glad you like it dude! ^^ (Also, the enthusiasm is fantastic. I give you the virtual, nonexistent in any actual tangible way but entirely real in spirit, cookie. Go well my friend.)

**Anyone else who read this but might not have commented **(you know who you are. i practically spelled it out for you.) **THANKS FOR READING! I truly do appreciate it.**


	4. Chapter 4

Chloe hadn't been the one to open the door which was a little disappointing for you, at least, although Stacie lit up when she saw Aubrey. The blonde gave you both a piercing glance, then in all her poshness she grumbled and opened the door. Then you both squeezed through, you with your crutches and awkward gait. Stacie, pressing every inch of her body against the blondes. She whispered something in Aubrey's ear that you didn't hear, but made Aubrey blush terribly. Stacie grinned and followed after you.

The place was packed. Clearly, it wasn't a little get together with just the Bellas. That's not to say that the a capella women weren't here, but you'd be sorely pressed if someone asked you to find them through all this mess. That's not only because you have no idea who the women are or what they look like. It's also because there are an uncomfortably large amount of people in here. You kept bumping into people, or 'crutching' on their toes. There wasn't a lot of room.

Somehow, you managed to make your way over to a shady looking spot in the room. There was a couple making out in the corner. You gave them as much privacy as possible while still trying to keep on the down low.

The music was pulsing, a steady thrum that you felt all the way down to your bones. Your heartbeat matched it, and you bobbed your head to the beat despite otherwise not looking to do anything else. The lights were low, people were pressed together as they danced. There was the heady scent of alcohol and sweat. You didn't much care for it, having no one here to really drink with but Stacie, and Stacie was... well, it was indecent what she was doing. The music was good, though. There were sudden exclamations and cheers as someone shoved their way through the crowd, and suddenly someone was calling your name. "Beca!" A face broke through the masses, and you saw Chloe making her way towards you. There was a cheery smile on her face. You couldn't help but match it with your own, quiet smile.

"Hey, red. Thanks for inviting me," you say when she walks over to you. There's a red solo cup in her hand. Her brows furrow, and she observes you for a moment before grinning widely.

"You're sober," she says, as if the world made perfect sense. You are, so you don't bother to deny it. Chloe shakes her head when she realizes that you're not going to answer. You notice the slight glaze in her eyes as she leans into you. "Now that won't do," she shoves the cup in your hand. "Drink up!"

You glance down at whatever it is, beer most likely, and make a face. "My doctor says I shouldn't drink with the medication he gave me," you state simply, attempting to hand the drink back.

"Do you always do what your doctor tells you?" Chloe teases. "Besides, I'm a doctor, almost," she continues. "I think it would be okay."

You gaze back down at the drink, before shrugging, "If you're sure." You throw the drink back and swallow it down. When you're done, you feel a familiar burn in your stomach and your inhibitions lower a little. You suddenly don't particularly care what your doctor told you to do. One thing you're sure about, it wasn't beer in that cup. Whatever it was, it was strong.

"Come on," Chloe grabs your hand and starts to pull you towards the masses. "Let's dance."

You leave your crutches behind, the ache in your foot a dull reminder that gets forgotten in the back of your mind.

The party continues like that, drinking and dancing and stumbling into people. You haven't seen Stacie since the both of you first arrived. As a matter of fact, you haven't seen Aubrey either. It's a little easier for you to stumble around now. Everyone else is so drunk, all it takes is the lightest touch on their shoulder and they go tumbling down. You look up from where you fell over on the floor and reconsider the thought in your mind since everyone else still seems to be standing.

Chloe, being the host of this epic party, had been dragged away almost immediately when the two of you started to dance. You gave you an apologetic look as she was swept away, but you paid it no mind. Standing alone on the dance floor, you figured it would be a little awkward if you were the only one simply just standing there so you started to move. You're not a dancer. Like, not even remotely close to being a dancer. Your movements are stiff and discoordinated and half thought out. People give you some space. After a time, you give up and trudge over to a makeshift bar. Really, it's a stack of boxes with liquor and solo cups on them. The bottles don't have labels, so you don't know what you're getting when you pour. You figure that Chloe did that on purpose. She seems like the kind of girl that likes surprises.

Whatever you poured was delicious, and makes you thirsty for more. It's not exactly fruity, but not, not fruity. It's like, borderline fruity and borderline not fruity and borderline mindblowing. Actually, it is mindblowing. You've had three glasses so far. Then you make your way back out onto the dance floor. Your movements looser, still not at all in time or even pleasant looking, but something that people can dig. You don't know how long it is later, but you're thirsty again so you go get more to drink. And then you dance. And then you get more to drink. And the world is a little fuzzy, and you think the floor is shifting with the weight of the dancers (that, that's why it's difficult to stand). This time, as you move back out into the crowd of drunken dancers, you bring the delicious not exactly fruity, fruity bottle with you. It's easier that way to drink it rather than to have to keep going back.

You are such a genius.

Everyone else is so drunk. The slightest touch sends them tumbling to the floor. It's their own fault if they can't hold your weight when the floor shifts. You stumble into a tall, busty woman. You're so small, your face gets implanted between her boobs when she catches you. Your eyes widen. "Whoa!" you say, moving your face in closer and breathing in deeply. "You smell like maple syrup!"

Suddenly you're on the floor and your arm sort of hurts. Good news, though! You managed to keep hold of the bottle of world peace. You put it to your lips and tip it back, taking a hearty swallow. There's a man standing before you with the syrup maple woman standing next to him. He's shouting something at you, and you think he looks like an angry shih tzu. "Awww," you coo, patting your thigh. "Here puppy! Here little puppy! Come on shih tzu!"

The man's eyes widen, "Did you just call me a piece of shit?" He growls and cracks his knuckles, "I'm fucking going to rip your-" his words are lost. You can't really hear him over the music. You hum beneath your breath, gazing around wonderously. His mouth is moving but there's nothing coming out of it. Well, that's a lie. There's a string of music notes coming out of it. You can see it. Just like you can see the golden eagle flying up and passed his shoulder. "Are you even listening to me you perverted asshole?" he roars. You bob your head happily. He doesn't seem to like it, and throws his fist at you. But, the floor was moving again. It tilted to the right and your body rolled. His fist hit air. You rolled into someone's legs.

"Oh," you say, sounding a little surprised. Your hand involuntarily reaches out to start caressing smooth skin. "Your calves are so soft!" The woman whose legs you're touching looks down with a little shock, but she doesn't bother to stop you. You nuzzle your cheek against them, feeling the soft skin on your face and you sigh happily. Chloe grins, letting you continue. She thinks your drunk affectionate behavior is adorable and nothing like the boring attitude you'd said it would be. You're torn away from her, though, when the angry shih tzu grips you by the shoulder and wrenches you back. He's screaming in your face, but all you can see is a happy little dog. Your hand reaches out and pets his head, "Good dog." He's about to punch at you again when Chloe stops him. Again, you can't hear what was said, but that's okay. You figure that one of Chloe's guests wants to hang out with her again, so you leave them to it and stumble away.

You're still holding the bottle, because it's a beautiful, wonderful, glorious bottle, when you decide that you need to find the bathroom. There are so many drunk people in the way. You don't really know where the bathroom is, so you start opening doors as you stumble along. Stairs. Look! Those are stairs. Betcha there's a bathroom up there. Just follow the pink punch bug. _Vrooooom vroooom vrrrrroooooooooommmm! _Up and up and up.

You open a door, and immediately someone screams. "Oopsy," you giggle, backing out of the room as Aubrey covers herself. She was in bed with Stacie. "Sorry." There's a song that comes out of nowhere to get stuck in your head randomly. It's not the song playing. You open a door and finally find the bathroom. Setting the bottle upright on the edge of the bathtub, you sing as you go to the bathroom. "I'm bullet proof! Nothing to lose..." You flush the toilet, bumping into the wall as you stand up. Manners, you remember, so you wash your hands. "Fire away, fire away. Ricochet, you take your aim," you pick up the bottle and go to take another gulp of it. A drop hits your tongue. Perplexed, you tip it completely upside down and stick out your tongue, shaking the bottle. In return for your efforts, you get another drop. Pouting, "Noo! The bottle, it's empty!" You open the door and almost immediately stumble into Chloe, who looked to be waiting for you. You shove the bottle in her face, showing it to her as you wail, "Chloe! World peace is gone."

Chloe laughs at you, taking the bottle and setting it on the floor. Messily, she pulls you into a comforting hug. "I'm sorry, Beca," she says. "I don't know what we'll do without world peace." Your face is pressed into her hair. Awkwardly, you pat her back.

"It's okay, Chloe," you say, realizing that you're not the only one upset by this news. "We can get by. There's loads of stuff we can do."

Chloe pulls back, looking at you. The floor tilts again, and you start to tilt with it, nearly pulling Chloe down with you in the process. "There is?" she asks with wide eyes.

"Yep," you confirm. "Like, uh," you try to think of something you could do. "Um..."

"Sing with me!" Chloe exclaims, happily.

"Okay!" you wholeheartedly agree. Any other day, if you were actually sober, you might've said no. Right now, singing with Chloe sounds like the greatest idea in the world. Immediately, you go back to singing _Titanium _from exactly where you began, since that's the part that was stuck in your head. "I'm bulletproof! Nothing to lose. Fire away, fire away!"

Chloe gasps excitedly, gripping your arms and pressing you back against the bathroom entrance. "Beca!" she says, leaning in close to you. "That song is my jam! My lady jam."

"Oh, cool, really? You know David Guetta?" you ask, just as excited. She nods enthusiastically, which makes you grin. In all of the entire world, the one in a million people that you are, what are the chances of you both knowing the same song? The white clouds that dance around Chloe's head squeal happily as well. This is the best party ever. Chloe waves at you, urging you to continue singing again. Obviously, you can't just continue where you left off. So you start over again. "I'm bullet proof, nothing to lose! Fire away, fire away."

Chloe jumps in with you for the next verse, her voice clumsily melding with yours. It's a lot like magic, you think. "Ricochet, you take your aim- fire away, fire away. You shoot me down, but I won't fall!" Your voices had been steadily rising up to this point until now you both are screaming the lyrics out at the tops of your lungs. "I am TITANIUM! You shoot me down, but I won't-"

But you do, the world falls and Chloe falls down with you. Drunken people. Geez, you think, shaking your head. If Chloe can't handle it... but suddenly her lips are on yours and she's kissing you and you're kissing back and whoa! She tastes really good. She kicks the door closed and the jerky movement grinds against you. You can't help moaning, loudly. Her lips come away from yours with a _Pop! _and her shirt comes off and the next bit of it is pretty hazy, but feels incredible. It leaves you feeling very satisfied.

When you wake up the next morning, your back hurts. Your head is killing you and the room spins and you know you're about to have the worst hangover of your life. The rest of the house is silent, now, and there's a little light peeking out through a little window above the bathtub so you know it's morning. The rest of the party must be gone. You're not exactly sure where you are, and when you try to move you find that you can't. You're laying on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, and there's a body laying on top of you. A naked body. Holy hell, if the naked person on top of you hadn't been an indicator than the delicious soreness between your legs certainly is. You had sex on the floor of the bathroom with a stranger. Your eyes are a little bleary, and you have to squint, but you make out red hair and- Chloe?

She's sleeping on top of you, curling into your body with her arm holding you close, her face tucked into your neck. She's breathing gently, fast asleep. You had sex with Chloe? Wait, you had sex with a woman?

In this moment, you are in complete disbelief. You aren't even into other women like... well... like that. What the hell happened last night?

Chloe starts to stir, and internally you're freaking out. It would be impossible for you to just get up, throw on your clothes, and go without waking her up. You're at a loss of what to do. Dude, you slept with her. What do you do? Shit, seriously! What. Do. You. Do. Too late, she's already awake.

Chloe blinks open her eyes and slowly peers up at you. It takes a moment for recognition to hit her face, but when it does she gives you a tired, content smile. Her thumb is tracing circles on your hip bone. "Hi Beca," she says softly. "Good morning." She doesn't seem to want to move.

You gulp slowly, "Morning Chloe." Your face is starting to feel hot. Oh god. You just realized that naked means that Chloe's everything is pressing against your naked everything. You don't like women! You bite your lips, there's a funny feeling in your stomach. Chloe doesn't seem to be freaking out.

"Do you want to stay for breakfast?" she asks, still looking at you. Her thumb, it feels so comforting and is completely distracting. You're not sure how to answer.

"I, um, I have to-" suddenly, your stomach lurches. In a rush of movement, you can't help but throw Chloe off your body and shove your head over the toilet just in time for the vomit to come up. You're heaving, again and again. It's disgusting. You feel the tips of Chloe's fingers tickling the skin of your neck as she gathers your hair back. This is the most embarrassing morning ever. When you're done, you're gasping for air and slump against the wall of the bath. You barely manage to flush to toilet. Chloe's rhythmically playing with a strand of your hair, leaning on the tub next to you, one hand reaching over to hold your own.

You can't really face her. You think she must know something's wrong. Your face is pale.

"What's wrong?" she asks compassionately. Her voice does funny things to your already upset stomach. You know that whatever happened yesterday had been a mutual thing that you had been reciprocating, not to mention that you hadn't known each other for all that long, so you can't really blame her for not knowing your sexual orientation.

"I, um... Did... did we...?" you can barely get the question out and trail off with a few meager words, looking anywhere at Chloe. You swallow the bile in your throat. Chloe's hand stills.

"Did we sleep together last night?" she prompts, and you nod. Inside, you're half pleading for her to continue. You're half pleading for her to say nothing at all. "Yes."

The word deflates you, "Oh." You definitely can't look Chloe in the eyes now. Your hand in hers in clammy. The hand that had been playing with your hair lightly touches your cheek and turns your face to hers.

"Is that alright?" she asks carefully, looking at you with guarded eyes. You can't look away from her now. Her eyes are so deep a blue, and you can't really remember the details or anything at all of what happened after you got ahold of that bottle, but you remember her eyes locking onto yours as you writhed in ecstasy and came at her touch. You had never really felt like, like _that _before. Not anything that incredible. And... you think... you think you might have returned the favor.

You find you can't do say anything in reply really at all, because it shouldn't be alright. Chloe is another woman. You've never been attracted to another woman. In fact, you'd thought Jesse, as annoying as he was, might be a good guy to date. But then, you thought over the past week, and all the fluttery feelings in your stomach. The worries you had about texting Chloe, about being unable to say no to Chloe, Stacie's soft teasing. Did you... have you had an attraction to Chloe all along?

Chloe's face falls. She looks away. If you hadn't been looking at her, you don't think you'd have seen it. "It's okay if it's not, Beca," she says. "I understand."

"No-" you blurt out, and her head snaps up. You didn't like her looking so down. Not to mention, you don't like being misunderstood. Your face feels insanely hot. "It's just- I mean," one of your hands waves around, attempting to aimlessly dictate your words. Chloe's watching you curiously now. "I haven't... I haven't ever-" you sigh, throwing your face to your hand in exasperation. You mumble into your palm, "You're the first, um, woman that I ever... uh... felt this way about?" Your avoiding Chloe's eyes again, an endless game you play. "And last night, I can't really remember it, but, um, what I do remember is..." you face is burning as the vague memories from the night before, and you momentarily get lost in them. You lick your lips. It takes a moment, but you shake the thoughts of it away in order to continue your rather poor speech. Your voice is barely discernable as you say, "Well, I liked it. I _really _did."

Chloe opens her mouth to say something, but you have to get it out. It tastes like vomit in your mouth. You'd know because you just finished puking not five minutes before. "And I understand if you don't feel the same way!" you placate, hurriedly. You force the words out, "I mean, I hadn't even begun questioning my own sexuality until, like, two seconds ago! So, I don't know if you- if you're- if it's the same way for you." God, why are you so awkward at feelings? You could've just been sarcastic, though, and covered everything up. The fact that you're attempting to be open about it should say something in itself. "But," you continue on hopelessly. "If you want, I'd like to figure this out with you." You spare a glance at Chloe's face and parrot her words from earlier. "Is that alright?"

It takes a moment. A long, endless, silent pause that leaves you feeling more and more uncomfortable. You can't believe you put yourself out on the line like that. You can't imagine what she's thinking, Chloe, as she analyzing the look on your face. You start feeling restless, wanting this moment just to be over so you can go on to the next. And then Chloe's kissing you, again, and it's nothing like the way it was last night. Her lips are sure as they move against yours, and at first you're surprised and don't know what to do. You can't help falling into her kiss, though, your eyes fluttering close. The kiss isn't rushed. It's not pressuring. It leaves you wanting more, and yet completely content with the way it ends. When Chloe pulls back, she looks at you again and hums. You think that kiss was to test something.

And then Chloe kisses your cheek and gives you a wide, happy smile. She seems to come to some sort of conclusion, and the look on her face sends elated fluttery spirals of butterflies in your stomach. You don't really know what's going to happen next, but you can't wait to figure it out with her. She grabs your hand and pulls you to your feet. "Come on, Becs," she says, grinning at you over her shoulder. "You're staying for breakfast."

It's only when you're out the bathroom door and Aubrey screams that you realize the both of you are still naked.

* * *

**AN:**

More to come. I promise it'll loosen up a little bit (you know, awkward people discovering they like girls despite having had clear signs up until they actually got hit with one). Going back to college tomorrow to start the new semester, so sorry if I don't update until I get back into the rhythm of things. Hope you enjoy. Thanks for all the reviews guys!

**Sweedledome: **Would you understand if I told you it meant a lot to me that you said that cuz I fangirl over your fics? But I mean, that's a completely hypothetical question! ^^ In any case, thanks. :)

**RadforR: **Lol, my pleasure! Cookies are the only thing in this world. That is all. ^^ Also, hope this has enough of a little bit of both for you. There may be more hardcore lovey-dovey stuff later, but for now we'll just blame it on the alcohol... Thanks for the review again!

**J17lp16: **Glad you like it so far! Hope you don't mind, it's got a little of both but nothing too mind blowing or painful to read. Actual boring drunk Beca may come later, until then I figure that this happened because of the alcohol and her meds. I'll do my best to keep it up!

**TheTruthIsInsideOfYou: **Dude! I'm so excited that you're excited to read my fic! Glad you like it so far, and I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations- It's kind of setting the groundwork for the problems that are to come.

**EVERYONE ELSE **(you know who you are) **THANKS FOR READING. Go ahead and leave a comment if you love me. Go on. Go on. ;) No, but seriously thanks for the support guys. It means a lot.**


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